


AT23

by RubiniaChangeMadness (ChangeMadnessRubinia)



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: AT23, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Other, Post-War of the Lance, So much angst, also wth is there no tag for a non-romantic/non-sexual relationship between Raistlin and Dalamar?, and why does no tag feature Dalamar's whole name?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeMadnessRubinia/pseuds/RubiniaChangeMadness
Summary: Caramon has settled into life in Solace after the War of the Lance is done. And then one day a Black Robe comes into the Inn... (not the one you think!)*** the title is temporary and will change ... once I come up with one anyway ^^' ***
Relationships: Caramon Majere & Raistlin Majere, Caramon Majere/Tika Waylan Majere, Raistlin Majere & Dalamar Nightson | Dalamar Argent | Dalamar the Dark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	AT23

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER
> 
> I (sadly) do not own Dragonlance, so the characters and settings in this fanfiction are not mine, only a part of the plot. I do not earn money with this (because, as I mentioned already, I do not own Dragonlance). 

Business was going well. The rebuilt Inn of the Last Home was nowhere near as cosy as the old one had been, but it was the only inn intact after the dragon attack. Caramon took in the almost completely full common room. After a short moment he decided to take it as an occasion for a drink. Although his wife Tika (His wife! He had a wife! On some days he still couldn't believe his luck that she had agreed to marry him) frowned on his celebratory drinks, he was sure that she would forgive him this one ale. After all, he was still capable of standing behind the bar and filling the never-ending row of tankards with ale for the patrons, and it was after all only drinks in the early afternoon that made her frown like she had discovered an old bloodstain in her favourite blouse. 

On any other day, this is how it would have gone on: Caramon would have stood behind the bar, filling the tankards and cups with ale from the barrels behind him. He would also have drunken one ale after the other, slowly at first and progressively faster and faster, until for every other tankard that went to the guests one tankard would end in _his_ stomach. At some point in the evening, Tika would have quietly admonished her husband for drinking the ale they should be selling. Caramon would deny this with a good-natured but also slightly drunken laugh, kiss her, and find himself a table to sit for the rest of the evening and recount his tales from the war. Only very late into the night would he stumble home to his wife and fall into an exhausted sleep. The exhaustion came rarely from the consumed ale nowadays; mostly it was the tales he told that sapped his energy and caused a longing deep within him. A longing for his brother Raistlin, who had parted ways with Caramon in Neraka. He had promised to write soon, but now almost half a year had gone by and there had been no letter addressed to 'Caramon Majere, Solace'. He had not answered Caramon's bi-monthly letters either. And so Caramon drowned his ever growing worries over his brother in ever growing quantities of ale. 

This would have happened, had this day been like any other. On this day, a hooded Black Robe entered the common room during the supper rush. Silence descended and paralyzed every conversation as quickly and surely as dragon fear, but it was immediately interrupted by the smooth voice of the newcomer. 

"I am looking for Caramon Majere. Is he here?" 

Tika took a step forward, a tray with dirty dishes under her arm, a heavy frown on her face. "Who wants to know?" 

"My name is Dalamar Nightson. I am Raistlin Majere's apprentice and I bring urgent news. If you could guide me to my master's brother, please?" Dalamar's voice was grave and outwardly calm, though there was an underlying urgency to it that worried Tika. 

"No need for that. What ... what news do you bring?" Caramon was audibly torn between eagerness and hesitance. He had also picked up that the Black Robe would most likely not bear good news; after all, good news would have been either brought by a letter or Raistlin himself. For Raistlin to send someone else boded ill indeed. 

"I believe that privacy would be more appropriate for this discussion." Was there a slight tremor in the Black Robe's voice? Or had he misheard the stranger in the well-fitting robes? 

Caramon swallowed heavily. "Follow me," he said, got up from the table he had been sitting at to go to the backdoor. 

Once they were in the privacy of Tika's and Caramon's home Dalamar took his hood down, revealing himself to be a Dark Elf; but Caramon was too worried about the news he brought to be anxious about such a – in the current situation – minor detail. Dalamar folded his arms behind his back and stood straight. "I will not beat around the bush. Since my master – your brother – fell asleep six days ago, he has not woken up." 

Caramon, who had so far been standing anxiously next to the kitchen chair, took an abrupt seat. "You ... you mean he is in a fever sleep, right?" 

"I am afraid not. I have cared for my master during a few illnesses now, but this one is... different." He paused for a second to take a deep breath as if to brace for something big. "This morning I brought a cleric of Paladine to my master to examine him, but ... he could find nothing. There does not seem to be any cause to his restless sleep, no sickness, no poison, no curse, no magic. And yet his health – " he swallowed, "deteriorates." 

"Then why are you here and not with Raistlin?" Caramon exploded in sudden rage, standing up so fast that the chair fell over with a bang. 

"Because we thought it more important to inform his closest relatives instead of me staying by his side when I can't help him!" Dalamar wailed. 

Caramon took a reflexive step back at the anguish carved into the Dark Elf's face. 

"Elistan and one of his clerics are with him in this moment, but... they are not sure how much longer he will ... " Dalamar's voice got stuck in his throat and he had to clear it multiple times before he could continue. "... how much longer he will survive. We thought that you should have the chance to be there ... with him ... in the end..." He trailed off in a whisper and pinched the bridge of his nose, casually using the movement of his hand to surreptitiously wipe a few tears from his bloodshot eyes. 

"No...," Caramon whispered brokenly and fell to his knees. 

"'No' what?" Tika demanded to know, just now joining her husband and the Dark Elf. She had been busy organizing things back at the Inn, for chaos had broken out once the black robed wizard had left. 

"He can't be dying... he CAN'T!" Caramon put his hands over his face and started sobbing. 

Tika hurried to her husband and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, while she fixated the loudly breathing Dark Elf with a stern look. "Who is he talking about?" she demanded again. 

"My sha- my master, Raistlin Majere," Dalamar repeated with a slight hitch in his voice. 

Tika raised her eyebrows and mumbled a quiet 'good riddance' to herself; but not so quietly that Caramon had not heard her. 

"How can you say such a thing?! He is my brother!" he howled. 

"A brother that has always used you! You were nothing but a servant and a pack mule to him!" she shot back, once again angered on behalf of Caramon at the treatment he had endured, as she thought about it, at the hands of his brother. She breathed in deeply. 

"I do not wish to pressure you into a decision. But if either of you wishes to return with me, you will need to decide in a few minutes. I cannot stay much longer," Dalamar said after a minute of tense silence. 

Tika and Caramon flinched. Both had been lost in worried thoughts; only Tika had reached a decision. 

"I think it is for the best if you go to him, Caramon," she said decisively. 

Caramon and Dalamar stared at her. 

"If the situation is as dire as – Dalamar, was it? – says it is, you should be there to ... take care of things. No, don't interrupt me, Caramon Majere!" she said sternly and laid a finger on Caramon's lips. 

"You would never forgive neither me nor yourself if you hadn't been there for your brother when he needed you; there is nothing I can do against that. So go... with my blessing." She swallowed. "I'll keep the inn running in your absence." 

"If... if things go the way we expect them to go, he will be with you again in a day or two, Mistress Majere," Dalamar added quietly. 

Caramon flinched as if struck by a whip. 

Tika nodded firmly. "Then I will go and pack my husband a change of clothes. If you can wait that long?" She threw the Dark Elf a questioning look, who answered with a nod. With a final pat to Caramon's shoulder Tika left the room and began to rummage through the dresser. 

Dalamar was still imitating a statue, Caramon still sitting on the floor, shell-shocked and occasionally mumbling denials, when Tika returned with the bag holding Caramon's clothes. 

"Here, Caramon. Give my... my best to your brother when you see him," she said, hesitating to wish the man well who had never done so for anyone but himself. 

Caramon got up, shouldered the bag and gave Tika a peck on the lips. Then he turned to Dalamar. 

"Well?", he asked in a rough voice. 

"Farewell, Mistress Majere," the Dark Elf bowed politely and walked towards the door. "Follow me." 

**Author's Note:**

> This was planned as a oneshot. Compared to the other stories I have waiting in my mind it also *is* a oneshot, but I'll still publish this in multiple chapters. Also, please note the tags before you start to panic :)


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